


At the Record Shop

by Wonderlandleighleigh



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: History, Multi, Music
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonderlandleighleigh/pseuds/Wonderlandleighleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve winds up with a musical education thanks to his local record store, and the people he accidentally meets there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They're in the Army (And Not in the Band)

The kids at the record store are…

Well.

Tony calls them “Hipsters,” and they all seem like pretty nice people, but it’s hard to relate to them. One of the girls has mint green hair and a septum piercing.

She ignores him when he first walks in, and he sighs as he looks over some of the record players they have for sale, and he finds one that looks like an updated version of the one Bucky owned when they lived together.

He smiles to himself and walks up to the counter, where the girl is reading and paying no attention to the rest of the store.

“Excuse me.”

“Hm?” She doesn’t look up.

“I uh…I was just wondering how much the record player-”

“All the players are at least $100,” she says. 

“Oh. Well, I would like to buy the one that looks like a Silvertone.“ 

That gets the girl’s attention, she narrows her eyes at him. “You want that one?”

“Yeah. I mean, it is for sale, right?”

“It is.”

“Okay, so-” 

“You can’t handle the Silvertone,” the girl says.

Steve Rogers frowns deeply and straightens up. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, god, Biddy, do not scare off another customer.”

It’s another girl, shorter, with fire engine red hair and thick glasses. She looks up at him politely. “I’m so sorry. You’ll have to excuse Biddy. She’s the worst, and our boss refuses to fire her because she’s the only one who works here that knows how to put albums into chronological order, instead of alphabetical.”

“I would just like to buy a record player,” Steve says.

“Of course!” the redhead chirps, and hops out from behind the counter, smacking Biddy with a rolled up flier for a show in the basement of some bar a few blocks away. “Which one were you looking at?”

Steve leads her over to the player and takes a breath. “This one looks like the one my roommate had, before-…” he stops. “Well. A long time ago.”

The redhead narrows her eyes at him, but nods. “Okay. Well, it’s a really nice player, and it’s $300.”

His eyes widen.

She holds up her hands. “I know it’s a lot, but it’s an original Silvertone. What music are you looking to play on it?”

“Uh…well..I’m a big fan of old Jazz and big band,” he says sheepishly. “I know it’s not really popular anymore, but-”

“SIlvertones were made for that kind of music, though, especially the ones that came about before 1960,” she grins. “I think you should get it.”

“Of course you do,” Steve grins. “You’re trying to sell it to me.”

“Yeah, but I mean…if I had the money I’d get it,” she smiles back. “And part of the reason why Biddy was such an asshole to you was because she wants it too.”

Steve takes a deep breath and nods. “You really think it’s worth it?”

She nods. “I do. My girlfriend is jealous of that player because I dream about it more than I dream about her.”

He laughs -genuinely laughs then. “Okay. I’m sold.”

She brightens up. “Great! I’ll get the box, and then ring you up! And! We just got this great old copy of Irving Berlin’s ‘This is the Army,’ if you’re interested I’ll throw it in.”

Steve turns a little red. “Oh. That-”

“I’ll go get it!” she dashes off, and when she comes back with the star-and-stripes decked out album, she smiles. “It’s not even scratched, it’s almost-” she stops when she glances at the back of the album, and then at him.

He sighs heavily and rubs his eyes.

“Uh…”

“They took my photo for that, didn’t they?” Steve asks. “I think I remember that.”

“Ohmygodyou’reCaptainAmerica.”

He grins sheepishly. “Cat’s outta the bag.”

She hands him the record. “Definitely on the house.”


	2. Why Am I Soft In the Middle (When the rest of my life is so hard?)

Her name is Al, Steve learns (“Aliceanna, but that’s long and kinda frilly, and Al means I can sing ‘Call Me Al’ when I introduce myself.” When he admits that he doesn’t know the song at all, or who Paul Simon is, she dashes behind the counter, and a bouncy, light tune starts to play. It’s Definitely modern, at least by Steve’s standards, and he likes how catchy it is. Biddy and her twin brother, Buddy, hate it, and groan loudly when it starts playing).

“You really don’t know dick about music, do you?” Buddy asks. He looks like Biddy, except he’s got short, magenta hair. His jeans are so tight that they make Steve feel a little uncomfortable for him.

“I know a lot of music,” Steve says. “It just all came out before 1946.”

“Music was like, super shitty back then,” Buddy says. “You should listen to some Nirvana.”

Steve frowns at the profanity used to describe the music he enjoys, but Al beats him to it, smacking Buddy upside the head.

“Will you stop insulting our customers’ listening preferences?” she snaps. “How many times do I have to tell you that for every one person you think has bad taste, there are eight more who think you do too?”

Buddy looks only a little chastened, and he huffs. “He should still listen to Nirvana.”

“I mean, yeah,” Al says. “Get him _Unplugged_.”

Steve frowns deeply. “ _Unplugged_ …”

“It’s their acoustic album,” Biddy says. “Good for beginners.”

“Good period,” Al says. “It’s a great album.”

Buddy comes back, holding a record with the band playing on the front. They have long hair, and they look a little unwashed.

“I…I don’t know if this is for me,” Steve stammers, looking concerned at the cover.

“Give it a try,” Al says. “If you don’t like it, bring it back, and we’ll exchange it for a decent copy of _Lady in Satin_.”

“Ugh,” Biddy complains. “Billie Holiday su-”

Al smacks her upside the head before she can get the rest of the sentence out.

*****

_Nirvana Unplugged_ turns out to be…

It’s so different from anything Steve’s listened to before. It’s mournful and dark in a way he’s not familiar with, and yet so familiar with.

Man Who Sold the World is a favorite, even if it is a cover, as well as All Apologies. Where Did You Sleep Last Night is also one that strikes a chord, but he’s not sure if this is what he wants from the music he listens to, and when he searches for information on the band on the internet, it seems predictable that someone who wrote music that was so deeply sad and troubling would choose to end his life.

He brings it back the next day, and smiles at Al. “It’s good. It is. But…but I just don’t think it’s for me.”

She smiles at him kindly, and hands him Paul Simon’s _Graceland_. “I know I said I’d give you the Billie Holiday, but I think you need this right now.”

He winds up humming Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes for a week, and he’s not at all upset about it.


	3. "What is your destiny?" the Policewoman said.

Biddy sneaks him some Abba, telling him it’ll change his life forever, and it most definitely does not.

She laughs about it when he comes into the shop next, and Al frowns as she watches from the back office.

“I cannot believe you fell for that!”

Steve frowns. “Fell for what? You told me it was good, so…”

“She was pullin’ your leg, man,” Buddy snorts. “You don’t know anything.”

Al is about to reprimand her charges for being jerks, but someone else beats her to it.

He’s a short man, with wide shoulders and impossibly blond hair, and he does not look happy at all.

“You two are lucky you still have jobs with the way you treat my customers,” the man snaps, and the two of them dash off to do some actual work.

The man glowers after them before turning to Steve. “Really sorry about that. They act like twelve-year-olds sometimes…most of the time. I only keep ‘em around because they know the filing system of the albums so well.”

“Al says,” Steve replies.

“Hey!” the man says, lighting up. “She told me about you comin’ in here. You’re Captain America!”

Steve gives him a sheepish look. “Well…”

“Good to have you. Here, lemme put this in the refile pile,” the man says, taking the Abba album out of his hands. “I’m George by the way. I own this place.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says.

“I don’t even know why we carry this,” George grumbles. “Al! Why do we carry Abba!”

“Because some people like it, and if some people like it we should probably have it!” Al calls from the back office.

George groans. “Right. That.” He turns back to Steve. “You finding everything okay? Anything you’re lookin’ for in particular?”

“Actually, Al’s been helping me with what to listen to.”

Al comes out to the counter and grins. “We’ve got a running list.”

She hands George a piece of notebook paper and he reads it over critically, nodding his head for the most part, but stops.

“There’s no Zep on here, Al.”

“He’s not ready for Zep.”

“You’ve  got the Who on here, but no Zep.”

“Tommy is way more listenable than any Zeppelin album,” Al points out. “We haven’t gotten to metal yet, and I wanna start him off on it slow.”

George sighs. “Lemme know when you get to Zep.” He grins at Steve. “You’re gonna love ‘em.”

Steve smiles politely, but he has no idea what George is talking about, and when he looks at Al, she’s holding back laughter.

“Today is Elvis day,” Al says.

“We already listened to Elvis,” Steve says, looking confused.

“Different Elvis,” Al grins, as she pulls out Elvis Costello’s My Aim is True.

*****

He comes back the next day and buys three more Elvis Costello albums.


	4. Squeeze her, don't tease her, never leave

The day after, he picks up a copy of Trouble Man, because he remembers Sam playing it for him in the hospital, and it was really, really good, and they talked about it again recently.

Buddy lights up. “Oh, shit if you like that, come with me!”

Steve blinks. “This isn’t like the Abba thing, is it?”

“No way, man, No way.” He pulls out an enormous stack of albums. “This is the soul/Motown starter pack! Stevie Wonder, Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, the Temptations, Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, the Supremes. Believe me, you want this stuff.”

*****

The little jerk is right.

This stuff is amazing.

He hums Try a Little Tenderness the next day, and Sam looks at him with a kind of amused respect.

“A little Otis, Steve?”

Steve gives him the most sheepish look. “It’s really good.”

“Hell, yeah, it is.”


	5. Can't Tell if this is true or dream

Steve finds out fairly quickly that he just doesn’t like metal music very much.

He can’t understand a word that comes out Ozzy Osbourne’s mouth, and the incessant whine of his voice mostly just gives Steve a headache.

He turns off Metallica’s _And Justice For All_ after the fourth song, which makes him throw up his lunch.

“You okay there, big guy?” Tony asks. Everybody’s coming over for dinner, and he’s the first to arrive, and he’s looking concerned.

“Uh...fine. Fine. Just…”

Tony’s frown deepens. “You look like you puked. Did you puke? You’re not supposed to-” He sees the album cover sitting on the bar and steps past Steve, lifting it up.

“I’ve been...I’ve been listening to some music,” Steve says, stepping into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. “They said that one was good.”

“It’s a great album,” Tony concedes. “But maybe this one’s not for you, huh?” He takes the record out of the player, and slips it back into the case before rummaging through the rest of Steve’s albums. “Your collection's getting big.”

“I like music,” Steve says, as he walks back out.

“You’d be even more of a weirdo if you didn’t,” Tony says, pulling out some Duke Ellington. “Maybe I could come with you next time you go to the record store. There are some definite holes in your musical education, and we can find you some metal that doesn’t give your horrific flashbacks.”

Steve feels his face turn a little red. “The song’s about the first world war, not the second,” he says absently. “Mostly it makes me think that the way my father died...it wasn’t so bad when you consider the alternative.”

Tony says nothing, only places the needle and lets piano echo through Steve’s apartment. Steve gets them drinks, as they wait for the rest of the group to arrive.

*****

“How did I not know about this place?” Tony marvels, as they step inside, the bell clanging on the door behind them.

“I dunno,” Steve shrugs absently, and looks around. “Al? George?”

“It’s Al’s day off,” a deep voice says from behind the counter.

She - he - she? They...are a bored-looking twenty-something with smooth dark skin and broad shoulders. And Steve cannot for the life of him tell if this person is male, female, neither or both.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what pronouns you prefer,” Steve says.

“She’s fine,” the confirmed young woman grins. "I’m Jaleesa. You must be Steve.”

He nods and grins. “That’s me. I uh...So Al’s been kind enough to let me try albums before I purchase them…” he lifts up the Metallica album. “This isn’t for me.”

Jaleesa wrinkles her dainty nose in distaste. “Ugh.” She tosses her long dark hair back and takes the album, dropping it onto the refile pile. “I thought Al said she was holding off on metal.”

“She was,” Steve grinned sheepishly. “George snuck it into my stack the last time I was here.”

She rolls her eyes and waves a hand. “Of course he did.” She pulls out the battered piece of notebook paper that Al’s been working off of for Steve’s musical education and looks it over. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Al. I think she’s adorable and fabulous with all of that crazy red hair, but some of these albums are booorriiiiiing.”

“Can I see?” Tony asks.

Jaleesa quirks an eyebrow and hands over the piece of paper, which Tony hesitates to take at first, but then snatches it up.

“What’s his problem?” Jaleesa asks Steve.

“He’s weird about people handing him things. Rich people always think they gotta be eccentric,” Steve replies, thickening up his Brooklyn accent.

Jaleesa snorts. “Mmmmhm.”

Tony looks at them, bewildered. “Where...there’s no Clash on here. No Smiths. No Cure. Where are the Specials? The Ramones? Iggy Pop? The Sex Pistols?”

Jaleesa looks amused. “That is a lot of white people music.”

Steve frowns and turns to her, looking curious. “What…what makes it white people music?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. I love _London Calling_. You should listen to _London Calling_ ,” Jaleesa tells him, as she steps out from behind the counter. “Everybody should listen to _London Calling_. And after you’re done listening to London Calling, you listen to N.W.A’s _Straight Outta Compton_.”

Tony blinks rapidly. “Actually...that...that makes an odd kind of sense sense.”

“Yes, it does,” Jaleesa says as she fetches the albums. “Rap and punk aren’t all that different. They’re outlets for the disenfranchised to express their frustrations with the world around them, cause they don’t have the money or pull to change it.”

Steve grins a little as he looks down at the albums.

Tony blinks rapidly, looking concerned. “So clearly we should alert the local Hot Topics not to let Captain America in, or else he’ll come back to the tower with black hair, leather pants and guyliner.”

Jaleesa laughs as she settles back behind the counter and rings them out. “Please. They don’t even sell good leather pants anymore, and to be honest, the blond would look better with that natural color in a mohawk. Don’t dye it black.”

Steve frowns deeply. “What’s a mohawk?”

“Enjoy the albums, duckies!”

 

 

 


	6. Do you Believe in life after love? Do you?

“So you’re telling me you’re keeping Straight Outta Compton,” Al says, amusement written all over her face, the next time Steve is in.

“And London Calling,” Steve nods.

“God, I always knew Jaleesa could sell the hell out of anything, but selling Captain America on old school rap, this takes the cake,” Al says. “Okay. So, where to next? You want more punk, you want more rap?”

“He wants neither,” Biddy says, as she steps up to them. “He wants Britney.”

Al blinks. “He really doesn’t.”

“Al, you can’t shield him from pop music forever.”

“Paul Simon is pop!”

“For grandpas!”

“We’re not giving him Britney,” Al snaps. “We’re not giving him Britney or Cher or Christina or Demi or Miley or Celine or Mariah or any of them! We’re just not!”

Steve frowns. “I don’t know what just happened. Who are all those ladies?”

“Overproduced hellspawn!” Al says automatically.

“The fierce ladies of pop,” Biddy says. “Vocal goddesses.”

“Canned crap!”

Biddy takes him by the arm. “Why don’t you come with me.”

Al groans. “At least start him on some Madonna for god’s sake!”

*****

Mariah Carey and Celine Dion are not for him. He can’t really explain it. Cher he doesn’t really get either. He likes Christina Aguleira, but not so much Britney Spears and he’s not sure why, and after a while, a lot of it starts to sound a lot alike. Even the much-touted Madonna just doesn’t do much for him.

He gets to the last album on the stack, and realizes it’s something Biddy didn’t pick out. The sticky note attached to it reads “More your speed,” and Steve reads the album title out loud. “Tina Turner: Acid Queen. Huh.”


End file.
